


Survival

by Tinstars



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Derogatory Language, Implied Nazis, M/M, Minor Violence, forced blowjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-28
Updated: 2010-09-28
Packaged: 2018-01-01 14:45:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1045173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tinstars/pseuds/Tinstars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>America and England are captured and forced into a sexual situation with each other.<br/>[from the kink meme]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Survival

England is thrown into the cold, dark room and stumbles blindly before his shoulder hits the wall. His hand endures a scrape and starts to bleed, but he barely feels it. He hears shuffling near his feet and looks down to see the outline of his ally on the floor, slumped in one small corner of the room. The door is shut behind them, and his eyes adjust slowly to the light streaming in through a barred window. He quickly kneels to America’s side and examines him, his heart thumping loudly in his chest.

America doesn’t show any signs of serious injury, but his arms are heavily restrained, and there is a ragged cloth wrapped in several layers around his mouth. England wonders how the pointed lack of noise had escaped his attention. He reaches behind America’s back to determine the strength of his bindings, feeling where his eyes can’t see and ignoring the pulse in his stomach as his face touches America’s coat. There are handcuffs, chains and possibly other devices holding America’s arms firmly behind his back, at an incapacitating angle. This would be overkill for an ordinary prisoner, but it’s obvious that their captors have gotten a taste of America’s brute strength and obnoxiously loud mouth. 

There is no way for England to unbind America on his own. There is no discernable means of escape for the time being, but they’ve been through the drills. Their rescue is a top priority. They’ll have to wait it out in this holding cell. 

An angry grunt from America reminds England that he hasn’t removed the gag. He narrows his eyes and touches the back of America’s head, feeling for the knot. 

“You’re very welcome,” he sneers sarcastically. “I had to see that you weren’t injured. Funnily enough, your overactive mouth isn’t my main concern.”

America yells out muffled instructions, telling him to pull the gag out from the front and untie the knot later, but England pretends not to understand. The gag is simple enough, and America seems to be breathing fine. It feels like they’ve been arguing nonstop ever since this mission started, and now that they’re both prisoners, England isn’t exactly eager to launch into the bickering. 

As his fingers brush against America’s hair, he’s almost glad of the darkness that hides the color in his cheeks. Despite their clashing opinions, having America as an ally has been somewhat thrilling. Their unsteady, newfound political alliance is a constant source of grief, irritation and the occasional moments of elation. Of course, now that they’ve both been captured, everything they’ve worked for is in danger. 

There is more fumbling, and stifled grunts of anger. England nearly manages to release the knot when they hear the door opening, and squint through the light flowing in. 

A man steps into the room without closing the door. His dark leather coat sways with his stride, and his boots tread heavily against the floor. His uniform denotes a fairly high rank. He could be in charge of the base. England glances past him in search of a possible escape route, but there are too many officers in the following rooms. Even if he were armed, he wouldn’t stand a chance. 

The man in the coat studies the scene in front of him carefully and frowns. Apparently, cooperation between prisoners doesn’t go over well here. England scoots away from America. 

In response, the man pulls out a gun and points it at England. America stiffens in place and a defensive growl rumbles from behind the gag, but it doesn’t distract the man from his target. 

“You are both important men,” he states in a thick accent. He probably can’t comprehend just how important they are.

“We are. Killing us without orders to do so would be rather unwise,” England replies bluntly. 

“Indeed. However, you injured my top officer’s jaw when we took you in. We don’t let that sort of behavior go unpunished.” He nods towards the restrained America.

“Your officer already retaliated with the butt of his gun.” England instinctively touches the place on his jaw where a deep bruise is developing. The man does not look impressed. 

“It is still too good for a filthy _Tommy_. How dare you touch one of my men with your vile person? You should know your place.”

England knows better than to respond to the taunts, but America seems close to pouncing, with or without the use of his arms. 

The man is about to take another step when someone comes up behind him and whispers hurriedly in his ear. He replies in his native tongue and gestures for the officer to leave. 

“I will be back soon.” He lowers the gun and keeps his eyes on the prisoners as he walks toward the door. “If you remove that gag, I _will_ blow your hands off.”

The door is closed and locked. Once again, the room is dark. America and England listen as the footsteps fade away. 

“Hey!” America says through the fabric. “Why’d you have to talk back?!” 

England can just make out what he’s saying, but looks away. America repeats the question, louder and with greater rage. 

“What was I supposed to do, let him shoot us without argument?” England snaps back angrily, brushing off his uniform and scanning the room once again for anything that might be useful.

“You took it too far!” America yells, just barely audible. 

“I’m sure he already had a plan in mind. I doubt I changed the course of it.”

America rests his head back against the wall. “If he hurts you…”

“You’ll what? Kick your shoe at him? And while we’re on that, _you’re_ the one who looked like you were about to attack. You shouldn’t act so recklessly. Oh, but that’s probably too much to ask. Look who I’m talking to.”

America grumbles until he can think of a suitable response to throw back.

They bicker back and forth, working around America’s temporary handicap to yell at each other in the most dire of situations. After several more minutes of heated argument, they hear the creak of the door. 

“We can hear your yelling from across the building,” the man says as he walks in, voice raised in irritation. “It is becoming increasingly difficult not to shoot you dead right here.”

The prisoners are silent, stubbornly looking away from each other. 

The man takes out the gun again and subtly pushes his coat back to reveal a glimpse of several more weapons at his disposal. He aims the gun at England’s forehead once more. “Well, the good thing is that I’ve figured out a suitable punishment for a disgraceful creature such as yourself. Since it seems you’re just as loud as he is, we’ll find a more deserving use for that mouth.” He walks forward and addresses England directly. “Suck his cock.”

England stares up at him.

No. H-he can’t mean…

“Are you going to try my patience? Should I put the bullet in your skull now?” The man waves his gun toward America. England continues to stare in disbelief, so the man cocks the gun threateningly. “Get to it.”

England’s mind can’t process it. He slowly begins to crawl toward America, who is staring wide-eyed and shaking his head as he struggles fruitlessly against his restraints. When England doesn’t move fast enough, the man points the gun at America instead. 

“ _Don’t!_ ” England exclaims as his palms move quickly against the stone floor. 

America, for his part, barely bats an eyelash when the gun is trained on him. He just glances from England to their captor, as if in a daze. 

England is in front of his sprawled legs. Their eyes meet, and the moment is more shatteringly uncomfortable than they could have imagined. In that instant, it feels like they’ve stopped breathing.

England takes a deep breath and presses forward to bend over his crotch. His heart is racing unbelievably fast. He pauses for just a moment, as a string of thoughts race through his mind, somewhere behind the fear. 

They haven’t even had a chance to talk about the past or work out their differences. England has only recently come to terms with the fact that the child he raised is now a fully-fledged adult.

Their friendship is so new and tentative. So precariously balanced.

“Continue,” the voice behind him says sternly. 

His eyeline is now somewhere around America’s stomach, and he doesn’t dare glance higher. 

America fidgets nervously, and England fumbles with the buttons on his trousers. Some part of him acknowledges that America is astonishingly well-suited to this uniform. A drop of sweat falls from his jaw. 

“FASTER.” The yell echoes through the room and jolts through England.

“I know!” England yells back tensely as he tries to concentrate. He should know better than to raise his voice to the man with the gun, but his rational mind isn’t functioning correctly. 

After another tense moment, he manages to undo each button, and pulls back the front flaps. He can see a patch of hair trailing down past olive-green underwear, and feels a deep pang of guilt at his desire to rake his fingers through it. England finally glances up. America’s face is completely heated. His eyes are half-closed and studying the wall. A few wisps of hair stick up against the stone surface. He looks tousled and embarrassed and it’s absolutely sexy, and England wishes that he’d realized his feelings on that matter at a different time. 

England knows that he can’t stall anymore. He seems to be disassociating from his body, because it’s starting to move automatically. 

This isn’t right. Even if there’s a part of him that secretly does want to touch America, it shouldn’t be like this. But he doesn’t have a choice. 

He takes another breath and reaches America’s underwear. There is an obvious bulge. Some part of him wonders how he’s managed to get hard already. He unbuttons the cotton drawers and pulls out America’s semi-hard cock.

Oh. The boy certainly has grown. 

He barely has time to appreciate it before their captor issues his next gruff command. 

“Lick. _Now_.”

England closes his eyes and lets his tongue brush against the thick cock in front of him. America gasps behind his gag and his hips rock gently. He licks again, slower this time, and America’s cock rises to full attention. England continues to lick, and has to stop himself from being too gentle and attentive in his actions. 

He should only do what he’s told. He should not be enjoying this. 

The soft, muffled sounds coming from America are so lovely, and there is something dangerously alluring about the way America tries to hold in his moans. It reaffirms England’s wish that this was happening in another place and time. 

He curls his tongue around the tip and strokes, perhaps a bit too lovingly. America’s shuddering breath begins to stir his own arousal.

A boot squeaks sharply against the floor.  
“Put it in your mouth.”

The cold, harsh tone of the instructions tells them that this is not about pleasure or uncovering warm, fluffy feelings. It is purely degradation. 

England positions himself and engulfs America’s cock in his mouth. The taste should not be so appealing to him. He wishes it wasn’t.

“ _Move_.”

This command is even angrier. He starts to move his head swiftly, spurred on by his sense of self-preservation and, to a more complicated degree, the gratifying noises coming from America.

There is a shuffling of feet as officers walk near the room. With a shiver down his body, he realizes that several more people have entered the room. Derisive laughter fills the small space, but England knows he isn’t allowed to stop. He continues to work America’s cock, hunching slightly to block the view of the officers, in a foolish attempt to protect America’s dignity. 

Another voice issues the command this time. “Deeper,” it says with an air of amusement. England doesn’t have to look back to know that there are multiple guns pointed at them now. 

He takes America in deeper, as far as he can without choking. He almost gags, and the laughter grows louder. The cock slips from his mouth and he coughs and tries to catch his breath. Almost immediately, he is kicked from behind with a heavy boot and slams into America’s stomach. He quickly pulls himself up without being told, and instinctively checks to see if America is okay. 

America is glaring at the assaulting officer with absolute hatred in his eyes. England knows he must be distracted before he does something very stupid. 

He gets into position and tries again, guiding America’s cock back into his mouth, just deep enough not to risk choking. America’s back arches away from the wall as a blissful groan is drawn from his lips. It seems to be enough for the officers, who don’t threaten them again. As England gets back into a rhythm, he wills the crowd of people to leave. He suddenly can’t stand the thought that America might come in front of them. 

A shout calls from outside. The receding sound of footsteps makes it clear that the officers are leaving. Soon the room is almost quiet, aside from the wet sounds coming from England’s mouth and America’s shuddering, involuntary moans of pleasure. 

Though their captor is still watching, there is now something akin to intimacy between the prisoners. England can feel his pants growing uncomfortably tight. If this were happening in another situation, he would already be pleasuring himself. Instead he focuses entirely on America. He becomes acutely aware of every hitched breath and every time America’s hips rise just so. England notices that his moans are becoming louder and more desperate, so he speeds up. 

“Swallow it. All of it,” their captor says, also anticipating the end. 

America whimpers and groans several more times before he comes, shaking from the intensity. The orgasm seems to rock through him, and it leaves him exhausted, straining to breathe through the gag. England swallows his release, running his tongue along his teeth to be thorough.

“Let me see.” 

England turns around obediently and opens his mouth, displaying a clean tongue. 

The man nods, and seems satisfied with the punishment. Another call sounds from outside, and he turns and yells something back before pointing the gun away from them. 

“You will live, for now.” He leaves quickly, closing the door behind him. They hear the turn of the lock. 

England waits for a moment before turning back to fix America’s clothes. Not a word or a sound escapes from them. When he’s done with that, he crawls to the opposite side of the room. 

For the first time in months, there is absolute silence between them.

England wants to speak, but reality is setting in and his arousal is lessening by the second in the bleak darkness. He knows he should, at the very least, apologize for what has happened. For violating him, voluntarily or not. The words don’t come.

There is activity outside their cell, but they don’t discuss it. They wait quietly, stewing in their own minds for what seems like hours. 

America is slumped into his corner, still unable to move his arms, studying the texture of the stone and tracing patterns in it with his eyes.

England can still taste America on his tongue. He picks at the wound on his hand, but he’s so wracked with guilt that he can’t feel the sting.

The light outside the window changes slowly. It is now evening, and neither man has broken the silence. 

A flurry of noise outside the door is what finally disrupts their isolation. Several men come crashing through the door. Their men. England heaves a huge sigh of relief for both the rescue and the distraction. He gets up and makes sure that the men get to work on America’s restraints before finding the man in charge of the rescue and getting up to speed. 

Once they’re out, they dive back into the thick of the battle, planning and strategizing. It takes time to really get back into the routine of things. For a long time, they can’t look each other in the eye. But they’re alive. They survived. They pretend like nothing happened, and try to move past it. 

They repress and repress, until that gnawing shame is nothing more than an occasional flutter. The memory is locked away, never to be discussed or acknowledged, set aside for the sake of the war and to avoid that confusing tangle of feelings. All that remains of it are brief glimpses that come to life whenever they accidentally brush against each other, or on those nights when they’re alone, and they suddenly find themselves with nothing to say.


End file.
